


hide me and protect my name

by slaymouse



Series: you’ve got time to figure it out [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bullying, F/M, Fem!Michael, Misgendering, Slurs, Trans Female Character, Transphobia, Verbal Abuse, essentially almost everyone is an asshole, except geoff he's ok, trans!michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 22:58:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slaymouse/pseuds/slaymouse
Summary: She’s so, so tired of all this shit. Living like this- it’s fucking exhausting.





	hide me and protect my name

 

Stocking shelves at the supermarket may not be ideal, but it helps Mitch keep up with her rent and her employer is a fairly nice man. He fills out all of her paperwork with her chosen name, tries his best to remember her correct pronouns despite knowing her since she was eleven, and avoids pencilling her shifts during school hours and Thursday evenings (her parents had a routine and it was appreciated that he understood she wanted nothing to do with them).

However, even with the kindest people working alongside her to help forget her past life, sometimes it still came back to bite her in the ass.

She’s just placing the last few cans of peas onto a bottom shelf, crouched down to reach the very back when someone turns into the aisle. Mitch thinks nothing of it since people have been darting around her all afternoon, but these particular footfalls ghost in the back of her mind. She can’t place exactly where, but she’s heard these same steps many times before.

“Alexander?” a voice calls a few feet away and yes, now she can recall where she’s heard this before. She glances over her shoulder and confirms that it’s none other than her old pastor’s wife. Even grocery shopping, she reads the perfect image of a stepford wife- and is it really fucking necessary to do your grocery shopping in heels?

Mentally cursing, Mitch turns away quickly and pretends to be busy making sure the labels on the cans face outwards.

“Alexander Jones, is that anyway to treat a friendly face?” the woman scolds, moving closer. Sighing, Mitch gives in and stands up with the empty box, gripping it tightly. Whether it’s to refrain from either hiding in it or bashing the lady approaching her over the head with it, she isn’t quite sure.

“Hi, Mrs. Paul,” she grits out. She plasters her face with what could be a grimace or tight smile, she doesn’t know.

The woman blanches when Mitch finally turns to face her, clearly confused if the onceover across her chest says anything. She recovers quickly, bright smile replacing her furrowed brows, “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you at the sermons,” she remarks. “Where have you been, young man?” and ouch, that one stings.

“Yeah, almost a year,” she fumbles because wow, since when had Mrs. Paul had crows feet? “And uh, I’ve been busy with some personal issues…” she decides to try and ignore the way the woman’s eyebrows raise as she looks her up and down again. She also does her best to ignore the way she’s blatantly misgendered her because Mitch definitely doesn’t want to bring all of the Church to her door with pitchforks and torches.

“Mm,” Mrs. Paul hums suspiciously, “but wouldn’t those issues be so much easier to resolve with the Church’s support, Alexander?”

Mitch laughs nervously, “I wouldn’t say they’re issues that need resolving, persay… Just, time and,” she twists her ponytail nervously, “...distance.”

Across from her, Mrs. Paul doesn’t seem to be buying it and goes into a spiel Mitch is sure she’s told to at least a hundred other people. Preaching the forgiveness of Christ, the importance of regularly attending church and all that business. For the most part, the seventeen year old lets her talk, hoping that someone calls her to the cash and away from this awkward and rather unpleasant encounter. However, when Mrs. Paul calls her Alexander for the fourth time in three minutes, she snaps.

“Mrs. Paul?” she cuts the older woman off, who stops ranting with a raised brow and withering expression. “Look, it’s really nice to see you and catch up-” it’s really not, but she doesn’t need to know that- “but I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop calling me Alexander. That’s not my name,” she bursts, voice cracking slightly when repeating her deadname. “It’s Michelle, just like my nametag says.”

The middle-aged woman looks almost disappointed when she’s corrected and Mitch’s skin crawls. Her eyes scan the teen, “Is that what this costume is supposed to be? You masquerading as a girl?” her words are venomous, but to anyone out of earshot, she still conveys the stature of a perfect, polite lady.  Mitch however, begins to hunch in on herself subconsciously, anxiety beginning to bubble over.

“Not a costume,” Mitch insists, “it’s who I am.”

“Please,” the woman snorts. “You know, Kathy told me that you’d strayed from the path she and Daniel had raised you on, but I never would’ve imagined that you’d fallen this far. Seeing you like this though- mocking femininity, I know that the rumours are true,” she wrinkles her nose. “You may even be past the point of being able to repent.”

Knuckles tightening around the box in her hand, Mitch breathes deep, fighting every instinct in her body to lash out with her fists. “And you know what? I think I might be okay with that. I know who I am and I’m lucky enough to have group of people who understand that too, so I don’t need you or your God’s blessing.

“Now,” she musters up the most polite smile she can manage, “if there’s anything you need help finding, I’m sure one of my coworkers can help you. Other than that, I’d like to get back to work. So if you excuse me,” Mitch bites her cheek, voice dripping with fake sweetness, “have a nice life Mrs. Paul.”

And then she’s stomping down the aisle towards the employee break room, praying that a customer doesn’t approach her and her wrath. She is far past fucking ready for a coffee.

  


_No one ever said being yourself was easy,_ Mitch reminds herself. _Then again,_ she thinks, _neither is figuring out how to wash bubblegum out of a bra liner…_ But no, there’s no way she’s bitter.

I mean, most normal people would be after being borderline sexually harassed for the third time in a month, but no, Michelle doesn’t do bitter.

She does however do blinding rage and resists throwing out the padding (she’d regret it later anyway; shit’s fucking expensive and no way will she go back to using socks) in favour of screaming at her XBox for the better half of the night.

When she finally heads to bed after failing a level one too many times, she insists to herself that her temper has subsided, if only slightly. However, when she heads into the bathroom and sees those godforsaken implants again, she nearly snaps her toothbrush in half.

To say the least, she goes to bed angry.

  
  


“Hey faggot!” someone shouts in the halls and Mitch sighs, disappointed. Today had been going so well too. She keeps walking and then, “Alex!”

Her eye twitches and she strains to not respond. Sixteen years of responding to that name still leaves her occasionally looking up when it’s called. Today however, she refuses.

Behind her, the telltale sound of rubber soles slapping against the floor are all the warning she receives before a hand comes down hard on her shoulder, “I’m talking to you, tranny.”

“What, you prick?” she snarls, pivoting and nearly smirking with how her dress flutters around her thighs. She feels like a fucking queen today and no way is this asshole going to fuck that up for her.

One guy stands front and center, with a couple of his lackeys sneering behind him. They must be going for the intimidation tactic today.

“Thought we told you last week to keep your smart mouth to yourself,” one of the guys near the front bites. Mitch vaguely recognizes him from her English class. A few of the other faces ring a bell too, but none leave quite as sour a taste in her mouth; this is the guy who tossed her tits in the garbage last week.

She snorts, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, “Sorry, I forgot that you’re all illiterate. I’ll try to stick to third grade reading levels and lower from now on.”

She turns to leave, when one of the boys steps forward to block her path. She suddenly becomes very aware that the hallway becoming progressively emptier and the people present won’t offer any help to her.

The leader guffaws, moving forward like a predator stalking his prey. Mitch backs up when he crowds into her space and freezes when her back hits the chest of another guy.

“Still that attitude,” he shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “What are we going to do with you Alex…”

Mitch glares upwards at the ringleader, but doesn’t dare say anything more. This guy is gearing up quickly to what she can only assume will lead to a fight. This doesn’t bode well with her, as even before she began her transition, she was never the most athletic; she won’t fare well against four guys.

They close in further around her and she feels her breathing stutter; this situation is all too similar to what happened with her father when she came out- she feels trapped.

The one in front, beefy with a buzzcut, reaches out to run a hand through her hair, his expression suddenly switching from violent to something more subdued and much, much scarier.

His hand comes to rest at the nape of her neck and when Mitch tries to jerk away, he holds her jaw tightly in place. She bites back a whimper.

“So how much do you pay for your tranny wigs? Huh, Barbie? Or do you grow this yourself?” he bites out, hand lacing through the hair at her nape roughly and tugging. Mitch breathes heavily and doesn’t say anything.

“What,” the one from her class guffaws, “cat suddenly got your tongue?” They all cackles like hyenas and the girl shudders.

“I-” she begins, but the one with a grip on her hair yanks sharply and her voice breaks with a strangled mewl, terrified and panicked.

“Shut up, faggot. There are better things you could do with that mouth of-”

“Hey!” someone suddenly shouts from Mitch’s left, and she turns her head as far possible to catch even the smallest glimpse of her distraction. She sees the guy’s feet first, scuffed trainers and maroon jeans, scrawny legs parted in what seems to be an attempt at dominance. “Leave her the fuck alone.”

The ringleader backs off then, hand leaving Mitch’s hair as he moves away from her, facing off against the challenger. From around the shoulders of his dumb letterman jacket- because of course her life is so much of a cliche that she’d be harassed by jocks- she can see spiky dark hair. That paired with the voice leads her to only one conclusion, and god does it ever make her feel embarrassed.

It’s fucking Gavin’s “brother”, Geoff. She’d almost rather still be getting assaulted than have him be here, posing as her hero.

“Don’t know who you’re talking about,” the meathead says and Mitch focuses back onto reality- she can worry about Geoff teasing her later- “they’re aren’t any ladies here.”

The idiot shifts his position and yeah, now she can see it’s definitely Geoff. And he almost looks amused, “Really? Because either there’s a chick here, or you just said some really gay shit.”

He smirks when the rest of the idiots still surrounding Mitch chuckle, and the one glaring him down falters.

“I- I’m not-”

“Get the fuck out of here- all of you,” he orders and with a final glance back at Mitch, the leader slinks off, taking his lackey’s with him.

Michelle breathes- properly breathes- for the first time in what feels like hours, but could’ve only been minutes. Geoff moves closer and Mitch looks up at the guy, really looks at him. Where she expected mischievous smiles and cashed away reasons to tease her later, there’s only concern- pure, unabashed concern.

“Are you alright? Did they-”

“No, Geoff. I’m fine,” she brushes him off. “They didn’t do anything- you got here just in time.”

He looks a little less worried at that and some of the colour returns to his face. The scruffy beginnings of a beard are appearing on his cheeks, and Mitch has to admit the stubble looks a lot better when he isn’t ghostly pale.

“Okay,” he says simply. He shuffles from one foot to the other and Mitch clutches her books a little closer; she’s astonished she managed to hold onto them in the first place.

Silence settles over the duo like a heavy blanket, suffocating and uncomfortable, but Mitch can’t put her finger on why. She knows she’s dealing with him witnessing her vulnerabilities like that, but there’s no reason for him to-

 _Stop_ , she thinks suddenly, _you’re thinking too much_.

“Well, I’m gonna go,” Geoff says then and Mitch looks back up at the boy. He’s turned around and begun to retreat when Mitch sighs.

“Geoff,” she calls, “wait.” And he does.

She walks over to him and reaches up, kissing his cheek and giving it a friendly slap afterwards. “Thank you,” she says. He smiles.

“Somebody’s gotta make sure you’re not in any trouble,” he shrugs, and with a wave, he’s gone.

  
  


Mitch is at a party for the first time since she’d come home from Meg’s the night her parents kicked her out and it’s safe to say that she’s having about as much fun as she had the first time around. Sure, the night doesn’t end in screaming or a hand around her throat, but having guacamole poured down the back of her dress and being screamed at for using the girl’s washroom doesn’t help her sanity much either.

But, she keeps her cool because God knows she has to try twice as hard to be nice and forgiving and sweet just to be seen as half as feminine as some of the other bitches she goes to school with, and god forbid she has to go back to using the boys room at school.

So she resigns herself to scrape what she can off the back of her dress, and wanders outside to the bus stop a block down once she’s regained what little dignity she can with avocado staining the backs of her shoulders. She slumps over her own knees, curls falling around her face to hide it from the outside world and she rubs her eyes. She’s so, so tired of all this shit. Living like this- it’s fucking exhausting.

Just as her eyes start to burn- tears threatening to fall. Mitch rubs violently at her eyes, mascara flaking off and eyeliner probably smearing to high-hell, but she doesn’t give a fuck at this point. Her shoulders hitch, chest constricting and-

“Mitch?” and her head whirls around, startled. Lo and behold, standing a few feet to her left is Geoff.

“What Ramsay?” she sighs, sitting up and wiping her undereye, hoping her makeup isn’t so smeared as to reveal what she’d just been doing.

“Are you okay? I saw what happened back there and when you disappeared I figured…” he shrugs instead of finishing his sentence.

“That you’d stalk me?” Mitch bites and she can see the boy’s face flush even in the piss-poor lighting. She scoffs and turns back to look out into the darkness, eyes tracing the shadows and the illusion of movement that hides inside them. “How’d you even know to find me here, you creep? Are you actually stalking me? Do I have to look into getting a restraining ord-”

“Mitch,” Geoff interrupts and Mitch looks back over to him. He’s not smiling anymore and he moves closer, sitting beside Michelle on the cold bench. “Cut the shit,” he says, words aggressive, but tone soft.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she fronts, “I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to keep faking it with me- I don’t think you’re weak because this shit bothers you,” he says. “I don’t think you’re weak at all.”

Mitch doesn’t say anything, just eyes him up and down as he stares right back at her. Suddenly, his lanky arm moves from his side to around her shoulder, and he pulls her over so she’s leaning against him. His body is solid and warm and she doesn’t say anything about the guac he’s probably getting all over his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” he says just as suddenly, and Mitch careens over an invisible wall, tears finally breaching her lids and chest flooding with release. “It’s not fair and I’m sorry.”

Mitch stays silent, but holds his arm in place around her shoulder, squeezing his hand in thanks when she can’t find the strength to say the word aloud. Geoff squeezes right back and presses a kiss into the crown of her hair.

She thinks that maybe, just maybe, she’ll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Foster the People's "The Contender"


End file.
